


digitalis et lathyrus odoratus

by honeysuckleLove



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: 1917, F/M, Genderbending, Hugo's from 1917, Impressionistic France, Originally I did not plan for them to be 100 years apart, Portia Robinson/Hugo Leclercq, Portia is from 2017, female porter, im like the first person on this site to do a female porter, im sorry, mild cursing? idk yet, they wouldn't let me say Portia so i had to say porter, time traveling', why am i the first person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-28 10:51:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10829775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeysuckleLove/pseuds/honeysuckleLove
Summary: Portia Robinson is a time traveler from the year 2017 for the government sanctioned company Lite Corp, whose only job is to retrieve precious artifacts from France. She doesn't know that her latest traveling will change her life.Hugo Leclercq is an unsuspecting gardener for Claude Monet from the year 1917, who has no idea what he's getting into when he finds the un-lady like Portia trying to buy a painting.____Hugo and Porter belong to themselves.





	digitalis et lathyrus odoratus

**Author's Note:**

> Basically a time traveling genderbent Porter meets the gardener Hugo
> 
> Inspiration goes to all the writers of fanfiction for this ship. Without reading your terrific works, I never could have done this!

Giverny, France, June 23rd, 1917

Portia ran around the corner of a ivy-covered wall in the quaint town of Giverny. Well, it was quaint to her, because Portia was from the 21st century. To the inhabitants it probably just looked like any old town. 

Her watch was almost out of battery, and that was not a good sign. She needed the watch to get back to the present time, but her boss needed her to get one painting from the great father of impressionism, Claude Monet. Portia was a little surprised when she heard the words come out of his mouth. The master of art would never give away his paintings, and she was just supposed to get one? But, she loved time traveling, and she had to do what her boss said. 

Portia worked for a technology company called Lite Corp, that produced high tech airplanes, cars, and motorcycles, but then they figured out how to create a time machine. And then the government found out, bending Lite Corp to their wishes, saving precious artifacts from ancient times. Portia was one of the first young intellectuals struggling to make a living when Lite Corp was hiring. Plucked straight out of her French lit class at Princeton, she had no idea what was happening. As soon as she started her traveling though, it was a breeze and particularly fun to do, as well. 

Each person Lite Corp hired was especially skilled in one area of history, and Portia’s was France. Her best friend, Mat, was the Israeli traveler, and her other best friend, Dillon, was the Croatian traveler. 

Right now, Portia had to get a blue colored water lilies painting. But there were so many, she had to keep a picture of the painting in her pocket.

Tripping over the long skirt she was forced to wear by the outfitters at Lite Corp, Portia ran down the almost non-existent sidewalk trying to reach her destination. Her catch-22 was direction. 

Finally she reached the house. Bending over and panting, she took in her relief to be there, but then the colors hit her. She was seeing a wall of color, tulips and roses and a slew of other flowers she didn’t know. And the smell was overpowering. It was pretty, but she wasn’t one for flowers, or gardens, for that matter. Portia pulled up her skirt, clomped up the steps, and banged her fist on the green door. 

No one answered, and when she knocked again, ditto. But she almost jumped out of her skin when a voice spoke in the French tongue. “If you’re looking for Monet, you won’t get far.” Portia turned around slowly. A young man with chocolate brown hair, fair skin and a lanky frame stood behind her, wheelbarrow in hand. “They’re at the seashore today. Can I help you with anything?” 

Portia straightened out her skirt, and put on her most lady like voice. “Yes, actually. I was hoping to buy one of M. Monet’s paintings.” She glanced at the red blinking icon on her watch. She would have to hurry up. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“I might ask the same of you.” The man gave a half smile.”

“Portia…” She reached for a last name to use. “Baker.” Portia’s real last name was Robinson, but she was warned by Lite Corp to avoid telling her real name. She was also warned to not get noticed, and this counted as getting noticed. 

“Hugo Leclercq. I’m the gardener.” He seemed to remember he was speaking to a woman, because he took off his gardening gloves, and offered his hand to her to walk down the steps. She politely took the extended hand. “And you said you were looking for a painting?”

“Yes. A blue one with lily pads? Have you ever seen it?” Portia asked. “Please, do hurry.” She removed his hand from her grip. 

Hugo smiled another half smile and waved her over, as he started walking briskly towards the red barn where Portia supposed Monet wrote. She struggled to keep up, but her damn kitten heeled shoes kept digging into the mud of the garden. Pulling up her yellow skirt, she tried to get out of the mud but it just pulled her in farther, until she pulled up her heel with so much force that she toppled over, ruining the light colored clothing she was wearing. 

Hugo noticed she was stuck, and ran back to assist her. “Are you alright?” He pulled her up with his slender arms. “Do you want me to carry you?” His crescent moon smile was gone now, replaced with a face of worry. 

Portia glared at him. “I am perfectly capable of walking on my own.” she said, only to fall down again. 

Hugo laughed. “Clearly, you aren’t.” And without another word, he scooped her up and carried her quickly to the red barn. Portia wanted to say she hated it, but he was really strong, and he didn’t even seem to mind that she was covered in dirt and sweat, so she just let it be. 

When they finally reached the barn, Hugo set her down on a wooden stool. “I’m looking for this painting.” Portia showed him the small print out and he went into a closet, and pulled out the wanted painting. 

“Are you sure he won’t get mad that I bought it?” Portia asked.

“No, he has so many he won’t even notice.” Hugo replied. Portia handed Hugo the money, and hefted the painting on her shoulder. 

“Do you need help, Miss Baker?” Hugo asked the struggling Portia. 

“No,” said Portia. “Thank you anyway.” Then Portia started made her way off to where she couldn’t be seen using her watch, still struggling to make her way through the mud. She didn’t look back to where Hugo was watching her stumble away. And she didn’t see him cut a flower from one of the flower beds, running to catch up to the determined Portia. 

“For you,” Hugo said as he thrust the flower upon her chest, head down bashfully. Portia looked at the flower with confusion, then realization. 

“Oh, thanks,” Portia took the flower from Hugo’s outstretched hand. Unsure of what to do with the flower, she lifted it to her nose, only to have Hugo’s hand slap hers down. 

“Don’t smell it!” said Hugo loudly. Then reverting to his quiet voice, “It’s a poisonous flower.”

“Why’d you give to me then, if you knew it was poisonous?” Portia forgot she barely knew Hugo and glared at him. 

“Because like you, they’re pretty, but dangerous.” Hugo didn’t seem to have registered the words coming out of his mouth before he flushed a dark, dark, red. 

Portia rolled her eyes secretly, and prepared to tap her watch to go back to present day, but Hugo’s arm on hers surprised her. It was so gentle, like a warm breeze blowing on her arm. Portia was pretty sure that if she was a wind, she would be a cold, biting wind. 

“Wouldyoupleaseaccompanymetothejazzclub?” Hugo said, rushing out the sentence into one word. It took Portia a second to decipher the words. 

Portia was surprised. She didn’t know if she wanted to or not. Something deep inside her was saying yes, though. So she decided to trust it. 

“What the hell?” Portia said, carefully laying down the painting next to the bush. “Am I dressed well enough for it?” 

Hugo smiled, a full moon smile now. “You look perfect.”


End file.
